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LIBRAPlY OF CONGRESS.^ 



I UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. | 



POEMS BY A PEIEST. 



The name of the Lord is a strong tower. 

Prov. XTiii. 10. 



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POEMS BY A PEIEST 



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PUBLISHED FOR SUBSCRIBERS, 



SALISBURY, MD. 

KIXG & BAIRD, PRINTERS, PHILADELPHIA. 
1851. 



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"The Lord be with you." 

TO -THOSE FIVE, 

WnO AGREED TOaETHER ON 

Sept. 17, 1850, 

THE AUSPICIOUS ANNIVERSARY OF THE CONSECRATION OF 

RT. REV. THOJIAS JOHN CLAGGETT, D. D., 

FIRST BISHOP OF MARTL.iND, IN 1792, 

AND OF OUR PRESENT DIOCESAN, 

RT. REV. ■WILLIAM ROLLINSON WHITTINGHAM, D.D., 

IN 1840, 

TO BUILD, FOR THE HONOR OF 

ALMIGHTY GOD, 

THE 
nrOWER OF SAINT PETER'S CHURCH, 

THE CORNER STONE OF WHICH I LAID, MAY 16, 1850, 

THIS WORK, 

PUBLISHED TO AID IN THE COMPLETION OF THE SAME, WITH A PROPER 

LANTERN AND SPIRE, 

IS AFFECTIONATETY INSCRIBED. 

"W. A. "W. 

Claggett Library Room : 

St Peter'i Chuich, Salisbury, May 16, 1851. 



CONTENTS 



Hymn of the Holy Cross - - - - 9 

The Milestone - - - - . il 

Hever Castle - - - - - -15 

The Country Pastor's Farewell to ms Church - 17 

Blessed Virgin Mary - - - - - 20 

The Patriarch's Pilgribiage - - - - 22 

EccLESiA IN Favilla - - - - - 25 

Joys and Sorrows ----- 29 

The Vigil of Orders - - - - - 31 

The Angelus ------ 34 



HYMN OF THE HOLY CROSS. 



Holy sign of our salvation, 
Blest in Jesus' sacred name ; 

Take no more ignoble station, 
Rise, with glory and with fame ; 

Tell the earth's remotest nation. 
By the Cross redemption came. 

Holy Cross ! the dread emotion 
Of the sinner's heart allay : 

As the morning star of ocean 
Guides the seaman when astray. 

Let thy light, 'mid life's commotion, 
Show the safe, celestial way. 



10 



Holy Cross ! thy worth confessing, 
We the Lamb of God adore ! 

Be to us the seal of blessing, 
As to all the saints of yore : 

Next our soul, when foes are pressing, 
Aid us, that we sin no more. 



THE MILESTONE. 



" At one extremity of this embrasure lay an old milestone, with 
the letters and figures so defaced as to he illegible, which having 
come to its journey's end, (though it may not, till it fell, havo 
stirred from its post for a century,) was here half buried in the 
ground, morally and picturesquely representing the state to which 
men as well as milestones must come. There is something affect- 
ing even in the fate of inanimate things, when they are past service, 
and thrown aside in neglect." — Prose by a poet. Vol. II. p. 61. 



What solemn monitors are things of yore ! 
The falling tower, and slowly crumbling pile, 
Bid pensive feelings fill the musing mind, 
And holy thoughts arise. 

The loneliness 
Of sanctuaries left to birds and flocks, 
Where down the broken aisle, no mortal foot 
For many a year hath trod ; the drear and gloom 



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Of homes deserted, whose once brilliant halls 
No mirth nor music, light nor gladness yield ; 
Come sadly o'er the heart and cause a sigh, 
Perchance a tear. 

So e'en the roadside stone, 
Defaced and worn, and idly cast aside, 
Becomes the theme of mournful reverie. 

who may tell how many anxious eyes 
To thee have turned, in eager haste, to read 
Thy figures, while the coach swift hurried on : 
And then grew sad, that yet another mile 
Was 'twixt them and their home ; — or smiled for joy 
That distance shortened to their fireside cheer. 

At sunny morn, a youthful maiden came, 
With rosy face and sweet and careless glee, 
Wending her way to school. — The distant bells 
Chimed out an early hour ; she listened — stopped ; 
Then on the milestone laid her little' books, 
And stray'd to pluck the wild flowers of the field. 

Two travellers from a clime remote drew near. 
Relieving tedious steps with pleasant chat. 
Of oceans crossed, and storms and tempests known ; 



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Comparing glens and rivers left behind, 
With valleys rich and streams unseen before : 
They, by the milestone, on the greensward sat, 
To rest awhile, and eat their humble meal ; 
This done, they filled anew the friendly pipe, 
And cheerful journey' d on again. 

At eve, 
A poor and aged man did oft recline. 
With crutch and basket by the granite mark. 
The glimm'ring lights shone in the town afar. 
And thro' the woods arose the ancient spire : 
No novel scenes were, round this weary one. 
In yonder cot his cradle-song was sung. 
And from that tower they rang his passing bell. 
The road and stone seemed old familiar friends. 
That bro't to mind the fleeting hours of youth. 
And all the hopes and cares of riper years : 
Yet soon he too was gone, no more to toil ; — 
His journey ended on the way of life. 

To all the things of time there is the lot 
Of sure decay decreed ; and man himself, 

A stranger and a pilgrim, passeth by, 

2 



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And leaves behind the ling'ring works of art. 
Yet vainly lifts the glorious fane its dome, 
And points its massive rock-built tower to heaven ; 
Unheeding time shall waste the noble form ; 
And cycles hence, of all its pride and pomp, 
No trace shall here remain. 

The sculptor's hand 
Lies still ; — the marble effigies he wrought, 
Endure a while as monuments to tell 
His skill : — a season brief — Alas ! how soon. 
By age defaced and crumbling into dust, 
They follow him. 

Thus, as the wise man saith, 
Is all our work below but " vanity" :* 
Its strength is weakness, and its glory naught ; 
Our days, — a tale that's quickly toldrf the world 
From first to last, the visions of a dream rj 
Life, far more fleet than e'en the poster's course ;|| 
And Time, the road to dread Eternity. 

* Eccles. ii. 11. f Ps. xc. 9. J Is. xxiv. 4. § Job. ix. 25. 



HEYER CASTLE. 

" Hever Castle, in Kent, derives its name from a Norman Baron. 
The aspect of this edifice, which had been originally built in the 
reign of Edward the Third, was venerable and imposing." 

'< Tradition still points to the hill in front of the castle, where 
the well-known bugle announced the King's approach and his im- 
patience to be admitted to the beloved presence. At this welcome 
signal, the draw -bridge lowered, the gates were thrown open, and 
Henry found all his constraint and trouble overpaid by a single 
glance exchanged with Anne Boleyn. In these happier moments, 
when, dismissing the tyrant and the sovereign, he was surprised 
sometimes into feelings of tenderness and benevolence, with what 
horror would he have recoiled from the awful visions of futurity ! 
With what indignation rejected the prophecy, that he should here- 
after destroy the woman whom he then adored ; — that he should 
listen impatiently for the gun which was to proclaim the stroke of 
death, and look with eagerness for the fatal flag which was to 
assure him she breathed no more!" 

What tho' emblazoned in thine ancient halls, 
Are seen the arms of Ormond and of Hoo ; 
Tho' Mowbray's crest adorns thy noble walls, 
And Warren's signs heraldic rise in view ; 



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Tlio' Howard and St. Omer's shields are there, 
All honor 'd in the feudal marks thej bear ; 
Yet still more gladly may the Briton find, 
The knightly name of Boleyn here enshrined. 

Here oft was heard the royal bugle horn, 
As Henry's steed came flying o'er the dell ; 
Then wide thy massy gates were quickly drawn * 
And down in haste thy old portcullis fell. 
The English King in Eltham's palace pined. 
But here sweet feelings sooth'd his restless mind, 
With joy he took a suitor's humble lot. 
Care, throne and tyranny awhile forgot. 

Fair relic, fraught with many a sacred spell. 
Thy towers are left a mournful tale to tell ; 
Of cares and sorrows fixed to sovereign state. 
The blighted hopes of woman's youthful years, 
Bri^t pageants closing in a flood of tears. 
And glory ending in a culprit's fate. 
Hever ! blest in thee those happy days. 
Ere Anna knew a crown or monarch's praise. 



THE COUNTRY PASTOR'S FAREWELL TO HIS 
CHURCH. 



Farewell, clear slirine, tlio' far from thee, 
My heart shall ne'er a rover be : 
Thou, my first church, with sacred spell, 
Wilt in remembrance fondly dwell ; 
O'er future years, perchance to cast 
A cheerful light from seasons past. 

Farewell the Altar, where no more, 
On bended knee, I may adore : 
The Font, whose waters glowing bright. 
Repose on stone of purest white : 
And Lectern with the Blessed Word, 

From whence the truth divine is heard. 

2* 



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How oft I've lingered here alone, 
When all the little flock were gone ; 
And trod the chancel silently, 
Lest some sweet angel, watching nigh, 
Who came celestial gifts to bring. 
Might yet be hovering on the wing. 



My youthful hands first mark'd the bound, 
The rising walls soon closed around : 
With solemn rite and pious care. 
The Corner-stone I laid with prayer ; 
While anthems thro' the valley rung. 
As strains from harps by seraphs strung. 



Here a meek maiden, clad in white. 
At Easter-tide, with morning bright. 
Kneeling at holy font I met ; 
The sun-beams, lighting on her head, 
A sacred radiance seemed to shed. 
While on her brow the cross I set. 



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And in tliis slirine we came again, 
At vesper-hour, with bridal train ; 
A Priest was duly waiting there ; — 
And orange flowers were in her hair 
With "pledge and token" sanctified, 
That maiden here became my bride. 



And thou, my child, to this dear fane 
Shall bid my thoughts return again. 
Back to the hour when o'er thee bent. 
Thy name I said in sacrament, 
(The water's glist'ning on thy face) 
And made thee, love, a child of grace. 



Now far away our home is cast, 
And other temples win our love ; 
But thou art to the seasons past, 
Dear as the pure and soft wing'd dove. 
Church of the vale, my early lot, 
My life shall keep thee unforgot. 



BLESSED YIEGIN MARY. 

FOR THE FEAST OF THE ANNUNCIATION, 

"Hail, thou that art liiglily favored, the Lord is with thee; 
blessed art thou among women." — Gospel for the day. 

Fairest name for poet's measure ! 

Sweetest theme of sacred song ! 
Fragrance floral, — gem-like treasure, 

Marj, both to thee belong. 

Lily pure of snowy whiteness, 

Springing from the forest vale : 
Jewel clear of crystal brightness, 

Shining in the lowly dale. 



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Thou who to the God of Heaven, 
Gav'st the mystic mortal veil : 

Thou whose soul wast rent and riven 
By his dying breath and wail. 

At the manger, Holy Mother, 
Deep thy love and tenderness ; 

At the cross, no sword could smother 
Sad lament and fond caress. 

Sure to thee with blest emotion, 

Saints their pious thoughts may turn ; 

Emulating thy devotion, 

While the lamp of faith shall burn. 

Words angelic strangely spoken. 
Broke the quiet of thy rest : 

Virgin, ne'er those words be broken, 
We will ever call thee Blessed. 



THE PATRIARCirS PILGRIMAGE. 



" Few and eyil have been the days." 

Gen. xlvii. 9. 



Strange may it seem for one like thee 

To speak of evil days, 
Whose pathway was prosperity, 

As fair as morning rays. 
And dost thou tell what fleeting years, 

Have made up life's poor span ? 
And mark'd with idle hopes and fears 

The pilgrimage of man ? 

Could there a shade of sorrow fall, 
In that bright day and blest, 

When welcom'd to the palace hall 
The Pharaoh's favor'd guest. 



Thou did'st enjoy a monarcli's grace, 

By Iionor'd Josej)h led; 
And 'mid the pomp of royal place, 

Thy holy blessing said. 

Yes, patriarch, thy words are wise ; 

And long we need not live. 
To feel that sorrow 'neath the skies, 

Is all that earth can give. 
The flock, the herd, the vine and field. 

May many a pleasure bring ; 
But feast to famine oft must yield. 

And those shall weep that sing. 

And life were sad indeed to me. 

Were no kind ladder set. 
From earth to heaven for Faith to see, 

When time brings but regret : 
The hope of better things on high. 

Alone my soul can cheer ; 
Or light from regions of the sky. 

And angels moving near. 



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Then staff in hand, still on I press, 

And gird up ev'ry fold ; 
Each moment makes the distance less 

To Zion's street of gold ; 
Bright hills beneath the azure arch, 

And spirits pure and blest 
All bid me, " Pilgrim, speed thy march. 

And gain the promised rest." 



ECCLESIA IN FAVILLA. 



At the second conflagration of Nantucket, on tlie island of the 
same name, in July, 1846, the beautiful edifice of Trinity Church 
perished in the flames. It was consumed when the raging 
element had completed the work of destruction elsewhere, and it 
had long stood as an observer of the ruin around. But " last 
(though not least" in the hearts of some) its own turn came. The 
Gothic turrets and the noble tower sent up their smoke to heaven, 
and soon all that remained of this much-loved and much-persecuted 
sanctuary, was — a heap of ashes ! Singular as it may seem, it is 
nevertheless well attested by many, that the valuable and sweet- 
toned organ, when the loft which contained it fell, gave from every 
pipe a wild and piercing sound — a death-like shriek, which wa3 
heard at a great distance on the island. 

The chiu'ch can never be re-built, owing to the embarrassed 
state of the financial concerns of the parish ; and even the old 
corporation has of necessity been dissolved. Truly, then. Trinity 
Church is no more : except, that it will ever live in the fondest 
remembrance of those who have worshipped at its holy altar, and 
who know that it was once to them indeed " the house of God and 
the gate of heaven." 

3 



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Thou art no more, thy turrets fair 

The sailor seeks in vain ; 
His last look on the isle was there, 

When gliding to the main ; — 
Now homeward bound from distant land, 
When nearing to his native strand. 

He sees thee not again. 

From street to street the rushing flame 

Ilium' d the port once more, 
Devouring, as it onward came. 

The remnant left before ; 
And long amid that waste alone. 
The church in solemn grandeur shone. 

Above the burning shore. 

But naught could save it from the blast ; 

The smoke and lurid glare, 
With glowing embers, thick and fast, 

Came on the midnight air. — 
The fairest victim and the last, 
Of all that conflagration vast. 

Was that sweet " House of Prayer." 



2T 

Of all tlie consecrated place, 
The cliancel, tower and nave, 

A relic scarce tlie eye can trace 
Within that fiery grave. 

Nor as the Phoenix will it rise, 

Again to greet the azure skies, 
And look upon the wave. 



Now silent is the organ's note. 

Whose melodies divine. 
At morn and eve were wont to float. 

To Thee, Almighty Trine ! 
Far borne upon the ocean gale, 
In death was heard its piercing wail, 

Amid the blazing shrine. 



The altar now in ashes lies. 

Its rites forever done, — 
The prayer, the hymn, the sacrifice. 

By holy Priests begun ; 
Its vesper lights no more shall burn, 
Nor willing footsteps to it turn. 

Before the rising sun. 



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For all the scenes of former years, 

With many a charm to me ; 
The festive joys and Lenten tears, 

Blest be thy memory ! 
But still unchanged, beyond the sky, 
There is a better " house" on high. 

Of immortality. 

Farewell, dear Island- Church, once more, 

A last farewell to thee ; 
The music of the ocean's roar 

Thy requiem shall be. 
At calm of noon, at dead of night : 
The waters dark, — the billows bright ; 

0, shrine amid the sea ! 



JOYS AND SORROWS. 



"The lieart kno^wetli his otvh bitterness, and a stranger doth 
not intermeddle with his joy." — Peov. xiv. 10. 



Joys the lieart hath, — never spoken ; 

Sorrows that it keeps concealed ; 
Silent pleasures quickly broken 

Were its holy thoughts revealed. 

Hopes within the bosom swelling, 
Deeply stir the spirit's rest ; 

Like a fount of gladness welling 
In the confines of the breast. 

Fears the mind at times beclouding 

Mantling all in sullen gloom ; 

Heart and home as if enshrouding 

In the vesture of the tomb. 
3* 



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There is One Above wlio knoweth 
Every thought of weal or woe : 

And Himself no "stranger" showeth 
To His children here below. 

Lord, to Thee, my soul's emotion, 

Is as open as the day ; 
Let it then with true devotion, 

Look to Thee, and "watch and pray." 



THE VIGIL OF ORDERS. 



** The candidate for knighthood was under the necessity of keep- 
ing watch, the night before his inauguration, in a church, and 
completely armed. This was called ' the Vigil of Arms.' "—And 
were it not well, if the candidate for priesthood, should thus keep 
watch on the eve of his Ordination. This might be called the Vigil 
of Orders. 



In silence tlirougli the house of God, 
Young fervent soldier slowly tread ; 
Thy feet with peaceful sandals shod, 
And Grace the helmet of thy head. 

Gird well the sword upon thy thigh. 
The brilliant breast-plate near thee keep ; 
And make thy yows to Him on high, 
While all around are lost in sleep. 



82 



Dread time, dread place, how husli'd — how lone ; 
And not a sound of life is there, 
Save when the bell with heavy tone 
Bursts on the calm and midnight air. 

Then through the frame a moment's thrill, 
Comes like the chilly touch of death, 
List, list awhile ! — now all is still : 
Regain with prayer thy feeble breath. 

See where the chancel lamp, afar, 
Throws o'er the shrine its gentle light ; 
As oft some solitary star 
Looks through the clouded sky at night. 

There, 'neath the " glory's" golden rays. 
Which o'er the altar sweetly shine, 
The priest his daily worship pays 
And chaunts the hymn of love divine. 

And thou, by saintly prelate stoled, 
Shalt join the sacerdotal band ; 



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Ordained by hallow' d rite of old, 
Before the Saviour's ark to stand. 

The morning light, far down the nave, 
Ere long will glow with radiant beam ; 
And thou with spirit pure and brave 
Shalt kneel and catch its earliest gleam. 

Then with a halo on thy head, 
And Holy Cross upon thy brow, 
Rise as the Knight of Him who bled : 
Rise for the sacred conflict now. 



THE ANGELUS. 



" A sound 

Whose tones, o'er earth and ocean sweetly bearing 
A sense of deep repose, have lulled me oft 
To peace." 



Shall foreign creed and chime alone 

The sacred pleasure tell, 
That in the pious heart is known 

As sounds the vesper-bell ? 

In mem'ry of the Incarnate Word, 
Who on the cross was hung, 

Shall no sweet matin chime be heard, 
Or Angelus be rung ? 



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Naj ; would that from each house of prayer 
That warning voice were given, 

At eve, at morn and noon-tide there 
To turn our thoughts to heaven. 

How sweetly from yon holy pile. 
Pours forth the solemn strain. 

And busy words are hush'd awhile ; — 
As on it peals again. 

Sarum, from thy noble tower, 

That measur'd toll I hear, 
Which speaks of Christ and holy hour 

And bids me pray in fear. 

And when beneath thy walls I sleep. 

My life and labor o'er ; 
Still send thy notes so rich and deep 

Though I can hear no more. 

Eve of S. Philip and S. James; A. D. 18-51. 



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